Wooden, wilting fan blades
Draped over the sky like dead fingers.

A monotonous, monosyllabic waitress…
Peeling pastel, plastic seats
Bathed in fluorescent light.

This is the last diner in purgatory.

Warm, flat, non-alcoholic beers;
Cigarette burns and greasy hairnets…

Cheesy post cards bleeding aged yellow.
This cheese cake has been here,
Rotating in it’s glass case for years.

This is the only diner in purgatory.

Reading last year’s newspaper, again…
Get someone else’s under-cooked order.

Only sporks, stale air, and a flickering exit sign…
I shake the dust off my sleeve, sigh,
And ask the mannequin sitting next to me for the salt.

This is the last diner in purgatory.

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